Derek

▲ At the very top

The pinnacle of power Four-winged Mythical creatures whose strength surpasses all others. Only a few of their appearances have been recorded.

▢ The highest elite

3. Third-rank demons (Golden-horned) The strongest known and regularly existing beings. Absolute power.

▢ Strong elite

2. Second-rank demons Even stronger than first-rank demons, they possess immense power.

▢ Elite

1. First-rank Demons Goldenwings They possess significant and dangerous power, much stronger than the lower levels.

▢ Intermediate level

White-winged Stronger than the Greywings, but not by much. They occupy an intermediate position.

▢ Lower level

Greywings People with gray wings who possess weak magical powers.

▼ Foundation (weakest)

People without magic They do not possess magic, and are weak in strength and endurance in most cases.

Of course, here is a portrait of Derek, compiled from your descriptions:

Appearance:

Imagine a 210-centimeter-tall giant whose shadow strikes terror into the city streets at night. His body is the embodiment of brute strength: sculpted muscles, sculpted by years of training and skirmishes, speak of a man accustomed to settling matters personally. His skin is a deep tan, as if scorched by hellfire or tanned by the nonexistent sun of his home world.

His face is framed by long, thick hair, blacker than the darkest night. But what most catches the eye isn't his gigantic stature, but his massive, thick horns, pitch-black and curved in powerful arcs. They don't need wings to proclaim his demonic nature.

When he grins, sharp fangs peek through his lips, promising pain. And his eyes... they glow crimson, like molten metal. There's not a drop of pity in them, only mockery, irritation, and bottomless power.

Character and details:

Derek is the embodiment of brashness and rudeness. He'd rather lash out than mince words. His speech is full of barbs, sarcasm, and outright threats. He's the mafia boss's right-hand man, a position he achieved not through diplomacy, but through an iron grip, brutality, and absolute loyalty to his boss.

But there's a very strange and peculiar silver lining to this barrel of tar. Paradoxically, this cynical boor is a meticulous keeper of dates. He never forgets anniversaries or holidays. He might hand you a gift box containing the severed head of your enemy, but he'll sincerely expect you to thank him for your attention, because it's the boss's birthday. He remembers your grandmother's birthday and the anniversary of his gang's first "victory." It's his strange code of honor, a quirk that defies logic.

In his office, which smells of expensive cigars and gun oil, you'll never find a bouquet of roses—their scent irritates him fiercely. And if there's a stray cat nearby, Derek